


94593409TJSNONFGN NG34M0983409T9V2-3RO23, U240TV3-5MV-24CTI 24 UT035UY9G5P

by madeinchinainkorea



Category: 3-4T78U34POWT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinchinainkorea/pseuds/madeinchinainkorea





	94593409TJSNONFGN NG34M0983409T9V2-3RO23, U240TV3-5MV-24CTI 24 UT035UY9G5P

**BRIAR HUANG WAS** twenty-two, barely getting by and almost one-hundred per cent sure she couldn't love. 

It wasn't as though she didn't love her mother, or her cat, or the diary stuffed between the slats of her mattress that she only pulled out when she craved to feel seventeen again. No, that would just be a bit fucking weird. Moreso, it was the fact that _romantically_ , love was about as possible as managing to cram an entire Tesla up her arse. And if Briar Huang was being completely honest, the fact that she couldn't feel that sort of love was downright pathetic and really fucking tragic. It was probably quite sad of her to admit that she _yearned_ for a taste of whatever everyone else was experiencing. She'd probably even trade her stack of first-edition One Direction CD's just to feel _that_ love.

Or at least, that was what Briar had thought she'd wanted until... well, until Wilbur Soot had stumbled into her life like a two-legged chicken that hadn't showered in weeks. That was what made everything substantially more mortifying - _he_ was what made everything that had gone arse-up in her life up to that point feel impossibly more shit.

Briar Huang had slumped herself against a bench, draped in sweat and her soaked clothes, and she sighed a long exhale of sheer relief. Dear God, had this been a fucking calamity of a day. Shuddering in disbelief, Briar winced at the recollection of whatever the fuck the past twenty-four hours had been and how absolutely fucked she was. Rain dripped from her fingertips splatting onto the floor and leaving an unmistakable and large puddle of herself beneath the once dry concrete. Hair feeling like seaweed and her lungs on the bring of collapsing beneath the shivers and the cold _and_ the wariness, Briar sunk lower and lower against the bench. This was some bloody pathetic fallacy if ever and with that in mind, Briar reminded herself that the worst was probably yet to come. 

And it did. 

The heavy pound of rain against her forehead went dull and for a split second, Briar wondered if the weather had miraculously cleared up. Before she realised, that of course, the damn rain was still going, rattling harder than ever. But she was dry. Sure, there were droplets of water dribbling down her face and into her lap - but she was _dry_.

That was when she looked up and found an umbrella born over her head. 

"Should've known I'd find you here..." From beside and chivalrously holding the umbrella over Briar's pitiful head was Wilbur Soot, staring down at her with a blank face.

Briar did not respond. _Wanting_ to respond was completely out of the damn question by now. Wilbur Soot's stupid face was the last thing she needed - him and his self-righteous face and stupid fucking politeness. 

She clasped her hands together in her lap, returning her gaze down onto the floor, quiet. It was the roaring silence that gathered between them in that moment that burned the guilt in her gut further. Neither spoke, neither moved, only casting solemn looks into the gloom beyond, a thick fog shrouding any sight that could've been. That was when Briar realised, it was not going to be a case of speaking now. All she wanted to say or what could've been said was all but a distant memory pissed on by the fire of her mistakes and an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach. 

Gasping, at last, Briar did not dare look him in the eye. "I've fucked up... I've royally, _absolutely_ cocked up, haven't I?" 

For a moment, Briar almost thought Wilbur had walked off as soon as she'd been stupid enough to speak - and she wouldn't blame the fucker either. But he was still there, holding that ruddy umbrella, his arm wavering as he clung onto the handle for dear life.

Finally clearing his throat, Wilbur spoke. "Well, erm, that is a bit of an understatement Briar."

"I've really fucking fucked up," Briar repeated, rotten for any other words. "I don't even know what to say... h-honestly, I-I don't know-"

"Then be quiet and don't say anything." Wilbur snapped interrupting her with a tone of resignation. He was tired, _hell_ , she was fucking tired but at least he didn't deserve it - she _did_. 

It returned to an awful stillness when she finally choked up the nerve to look up at Wilbur. Solemn and gaze centred on the concrete below, torrentially drenched in clogs of rain and the curly wisps of his hair clinging onto his forehead. Briar knew that squirming in her pathetic bubble of guilt was barely enough of an apology for Wilbur. And so, she looked back down once more. Her mammoth of questions couldn't even reason why Wilbur was still bloody standing there, the nerve of him. Why the fuck hadn't he taken one look at Briar, her entire fucking downfall, and decided it was best to fuck off and waltz out of her life for good?

She took a shaky exhale, gulping back the prickling threat of tears. "I-I... I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry Wilbur. I really never meant - no... look, I never wanted..." Her abysmal excuse of justification trailed off into nothing but a gasp for air and a wordless bobbing mouth. "Just... I'm sorry."

Honestly, how on earth did everything manage to unfold into this utter disaster? Disasters aside, Briar wondered why on earth everything had to get terribly cocked up in her life? This failure was entirely her own ignorant and stupid doing, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to resolve it. And so, any fraction of hope dissolved into silence once more. 

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS EARLIER ...**

**"I HOPE YOU** know shoplifting is a crime, Tommy!" Briar called for the second time, and this time she perched herself over the front counter, in some bad attempt at trying to stop Tommy. 

Tommy, the idiot he was, grunted in response and returned the sound of shuffling through the shelves. "Is it _really_ though?"

"Yes, it is..." Briar drawled an exasperated sigh and returned to her place behind the counter, drilling her fingers into the linoleum below. "As everyone knows, shoplifters will be prosecuted- oi! Put that bloody bottle of wine down before I get the feds here." Her eyes shifted from the circular mirror in the corner of the shop which gave her a delightful view of Tommy pathetically attempting to shove a bottle of wine into his shirt and over to the sound of clinking bottles and a childish huff of dismay. 

"You're really not any fun are you, Briar? I mean, _everyone_ likes to do a bit of cocaine and crime and stabbing these days, so I really don't see your point in trying to stop me from _drinking._ I'm a saint compared a mafia boss, Briar." He remarked, followed with a string of faint curses as something very heavy dropped onto the store floor. "And besides, shoplifters don't actually get prosecuted, do they?"

Briar couldn't exactly believe what she was hearing and found herself slumping into the desk chair behind. "Of course they get prosecuted, you child. Look even the sign behind me clearly says," Briar rolled backwards, yanked it off the blue tack that hung it in front of the cabinet of cigarettes and waved the slightly crumpled memo in his face as Tommy shuffled towards the kiosk. She cleared her throat, jabbing a finger into every word. "Shoplifters will be pros-"

"Prostituted."

"You what?" Briar looked up at Tommy, appalled. "Did you fail your Year Six SATs Tommy? It clearly says-"  
  


"Prostituted. That's what it says," he grinned back at her. "Did _you_ make that sign?"  
  


She sputtered, murmuring that it surely did not say prostituted - she won a bloody spelling bee in 2013, Briar couldn't have got it wrong. Frowning in sheer disbelief that yes, on the pink sign written in black bold it did in fact say, prostituted, she pursed her lips together. "Right... well, it does say prostituted. A-and anyway! It's not like _I_ made that sign or anything, so I'm really not at fault here."  
  


"Fault - as in you can't read." He said, still grinning with pride. 

Deadpanning, she crumpled up the sign and threw it onto the floor. "Oh, go away. Don't you have some Set Four fractions homework to do?"

"No, actually. It's half-term for me anyway, that's why I'm down here in Brighton - only _losers_ do homework in half-term, Briar." Tommy perked up, as though he was dripping with mountains of swagger and cleared his throat. "So, anyway..."

Briar wondered to herself why the little shit hadn't got up and left yet, but then again, the poor kid was probably shitting himself at the thought of venturing onto Brighton Pier. "Anyway, what?"

Tommy glanced over both his shoulders, leaned onto the counter, gave out the dodgiest smirk Briar had ever clapped eyes on and winked. "How's your love life?" Briar glared at Tommy for a long moment of despair, then got up out of her seat behind the counter and swept past him before he could register that she'd moved. He squawked out a humiliating shred of loud laughter and trailed after her. "Ohh Briar, is it that bad?"

"Go home, Tommy," Briar said simply, stalking down one of the aisles and busying herself with straightening up the amount of cans and boxes Tommy had managed to tip over.

"Ohhhh, c'mon Briar! Don't get all... all... _woman-y,_ just because you're single," he sighed. Briar glanced up for a brief moment - utterly baffled - then turned on her heel to head to the milk fridge, Tommy practically clinging to her ankles. "If you'd hear me out Briar," Tommy paused, and after seeing no sign of discouragement from her, he continued, "I have a proposition for you! Drum roll, if you'd please." Despite sensing that Briar was not going to give him a mighty drum roll and was instead shoving more milk cartons into the fridge, he was unfortunately not discouraged. "I have found you a love match!"  
  


Briar barely stifled a snort, staring at him in amused shitting disbelief. "Jesus Tommy, what is wrong with you? I do not need some prepubescent gremlin," (Tommy gasped out an offended squeak), "interfering in my love life... don't you have a fucking nativity to put on or something? Honestly, how did you even-"

Hushing her with a finger, Tommy rolled his eyes. "Oh, details, details - I just know because I am a _very_ smart man. Moving on from that, do you want to hear about your Mister Right?" As though he was trying to encourage anything remotely positive out of Briar, he wiggled about his eyebrows. 

"Oh, God, go on then," Briar knew damn well Tommy would pester her to the ends of the earth it meant she could hear about her 'Mister Right' so there really wasn't any point of trying to get him to fuck off. 

"Brilliant!" Tommy said, brightening with even more enthusiasm. "So, he's like, uhh, mid-thirties early forties-ish, I think?"

"Right..."

"Leaning a bit on the good ol' plump size, but you know, size doesn't matter! He's very nice, actually a really good person to go to if you're stuck on a problem." More by more, Briar was becoming slightly more intrigued. Maybe, just maybe, Tommy might've actually found someone - however in god's name he managed to do that. "And I think you'd really like him actually. He's not a right dickhead like some people there..." Tommy nodded along with his own words, as though pondering about something. Though she'd never admit aloud, she was more convinced by the second. "Oh yeah, he's also my Maths Teacher if that-"

Briar huffed, hauling up the milk carton box and pulled it against her chest, sneering. "Oh, bloody hell!" She snorted. "Just go home, Tommy. Get the next bloody train out of Brighton."

"Ohhh, he's not that bad! Just because he's my maths teacher, it doesn't mean-" Tommy tried desperately to regain any sort of confidence in Briar, trailing after her as she hustled her way down the aisle, back over to the kiosk.

"No, no, no! Tommy, you listen to me." Resigning herself back behind the counter, she chucked down the basket and glared fiercely at him. "I am not going to date your ruddy maths teacher - I am not even going to remotely consider that because a, it's fucking weird, b, he's your maths teacher and c-"

Briar was cut off by the shop door banging open with a harsh jingle from the bell above. With all the elegance of a baboon with its arse on fire, there appeared a stumbling Wilbur Soot, wincing in cringe as the door behind him clamoured shut and barely missed grazing his ankle. Briar could've sworn she felt her gut prolapse in on itself. 

"Tripped. Sorry." Not even bothering to look over at the kiosk, Wilbur pointed over to Tommy. "You! God, the amount of bloody trouble I went into to finding this place. Why on earth are you hanging about in a corner store and not with- _Briar_." He broke off as he finally noticed he and Tommy weren't alone. 

For a long moment, she and Wilbur stared at each other. Briar wondered if this was some horrific fever dream and she was about to awaken inside a hospital with ebola. As there Wilbur Soot was, standing there in his six-foot-five glory, for the first time in what must've been eight months. Still absolutely fucking gorgeous and with his stupid, _amazing_ mop of a haircut. He had not changed a single freckle within the past few months and Briar all of a sudden felt quite like an ass, gawping in her worn-down Carhartt vest and battered fake Doc Martens.

Tommy, meanwhile, stood gaping uselessly from afar, confused. God, if they didn't do something they'd be here all day and Briar had quite a lot of shop-things to do. Briar nodded. 

"You alright?" She spoke evenly in greeting. 

Wilbur, to his credit, just replied, "Yeah... you?" And in all politeness, she gave a courtesy 'good, thanks'. He turned his attention back to Tommy, chastising him exactly how a sibling would do to their little brother who'd been caught dipping his toes in toilet water. "Right, Tommy, go outside. You know, your dad has been bloody pestering me to find you for the past hour after you wandered off... honestly...."

"Noo, Wilbur, don't tell me off. I was just hanging around with Briar 'cause she was free... I'm sorry, _honest_ ," Tommy feigned some kind of sincerity.

Wilbur did not buy that for a single second and shook his head. "Outside, Tommy. Go back to the office." 

Office? Briar perked up slightly in confusion - was Wilbur some kind of 'going through a mid-life crisis at twenty-five' office worker now? Or maybe, just maybe, Wilbur had gathered up his wits to work in the law of all bloody things, seeing as the only offices near here were the solicitors. Briar was impressed. Far too impressed. 

"But-"

"Outside, Tommy." Wilbur chided and like so, Tommy skulked out, waving a solemn goodbye to Briar as she stifled in a laugh. It seemed as though Wilbur was to follow ensuite, without even a nod of goodbye or some kind of mutter of farewell, for he had turned quickly on his heel and was halfway out through the doorway, Briar watching his every move. Until, Wilbur took a bloody doubletake. He seemed to be contemplating _something_ , standing there with his bent head beneath the arches and bobbing back and forth. Before finally, the fucker swivelled back around, bravado and all as though he was so damn sure of himself, then faltered into a state of bumbling awkwardness as Briar's eye caught his once more. "I - Uhm, I just need to get... some, uh, stuff... _food_."

Now on her guard, Briar gave a cautious nod. "Right..."

She watched as Wilbur blundered down the aisle closest to the door, so idiotically interested in whatever he was actually doing. Gathering onto her tiptoes, Briar really did try her best to take a gander at Wilbur while his back was turned. Really, absolutely nothing had changed. Whether it had been his voice, still so velvety fascinating or the mere way he stood, slightly hunched over (though not even comparing to Tommy) but still somehow holding mighty presence. Or was that presence just Briar being lured in by the trap of eight months past? 

Had it really been eight bloody months since then, Briar thought to herself, gazing at the way the curls on Wilbur's head bounced above the aisles as he strolled. Eight months since she had spent everyday fawning over every message they'd fired back and forth. Eight months since she had pulled a staggering amount of all-nighters just to stay on call with him and hear his voice grow raspy as the hours past. Eight months since... well, eight months since she'd blossomed with so much startling affection for the man, she completely blocked all contact. It was a perfectly fine solution to dealing with her daft little school-girl-Esque crush, and Briar most certainly had _not_ regretted it. She was so sure that she'd gotten over it and that had been an adamant thought for the past months - yes, she was one hundred per cent for sure over it! 

But why, just why, did her heart start beating in her face when he staggered through the door? And why was she now feverishly sweating with restlessness, gawking at mere the sight of him rummaging through the isle? Could it be that- no... no! That was utterly ridiculous and downright loony thought. Briar was quite fine in her _true_ reasoning that, one, she was just scared by his barging in and two, Wilbur was spending a suspicious and disturbing amount of time looking around the shop. It had in fact been ten bloody minutes since he'd announced he needed to buy something, and what on earth could take so long? What the fuck was he still doing here? What exactly was he planning?  


Briar jerked her head out of the kiosk. "Uh, you, erm, alright back there? Do you need any-"  
  


"N-Nope! No, no, I'm fine. Thanks..." Wilbur had a certain edge to his voice - had Briar scared him? There went the sound of urgent shuffling and something being scrunched and the sound of the fridge door being wrenched open and shut. Only moments later, Wilbur reappeared from behind the shelves, flustered and puffing. He chucked his armful of items onto the counter and gave an awkward pursed-lip smile at Briar, like an apology for taking so damn long searching through the shelves. "Here you go."

She quirked an eyebrow up at the complete cluster-fuck of items. "Erm, d'you want a bag with all _that_?"

He had panicked when she talked to him, it was painfully obvious. Did he really hate her that much now? "No- I mean, y-yeah please. Thanks..."  
  


Briar inclined her head as some sort of response, pulling a blue plastic bag out from beneath the counter and beginning to scan away. Jesus, was Wilbur alright? She looked at the items, not exactly sure as what to say as she began to pack them in the bag. A can of beans, cheese and onion crisps (Briar _loathed_ that flavour, herself preferring prawn cocktail and she bit back a comment over his stupid choice of crisps), a packet of flour, canned asparagus, Ribena, and-

"This too, please," Wilbur said, fumbling with the tray of gum packets and placing a strawberry Hubba-bubba onto the counter.

Briar couldn't stop herself from saying, "You hate strawberry Hubba-Bubba. It's my favourite and you-"

"I like it now." He spoke all too quickly, raising her suspicion.

"Oh. Right."

Apparently, Wilbur seemed to take her comment as a cue for conversation and cleared his throat, speaking once again. "So... why are you working here? You know, in a shop."

Briar stifled her urge to stare him down with an expression so dull it would've stopped any conversation possible. "It's a job. To get money. So I can live and not go homeless."

"Oh, yeah, right of course..." Wilbur shuffled his gaze around on the floor before saying, "I, erm, have an office now, you know."

"Yeah, you said," Briar responded, feeling terribly uncomfortable. "You work for the solicitors now or...?"

Wilbur scratched at the back of his head, not daring to look her in the eye. "No. No. It's the, uh, you know, streamer _thing_ I had going on. Have, sorry, I still do that, that's why I'm in an office now. Like erm, I'm not in London anymore. I moved, like a month ago back to Brighton and I- well... uh... my office! Right, yeah. It's down the road from here so, you know, I think we'll be seeing each other," realising that saying it like that probably wasn't a good idea, he choked out a stiff chuckle. "I mean, not like that! Hah! But I... yeah. You know."  
  


Yes, she knew alright. That probably meant more shit-inducing awkward and fucking uncomfortable encounters with Wilbur Soot. Whoop-fucking-ie! Briar should've just walked out as soon as Wilbur had shown his face, it would've saved both of them the embarrassment of whatever the fuck this conversation was. If you could even call it that. 

"Mmm, yeah. I know," Briar drew herself up to the register and read out his total. "That's £4.69. Cash or card?"

"Oh, cash! Yeah cash..." Wilbur scrambled to his back pocket, pulling out a fiver. He handed it over to her open palm and- 

Oh, God. His hand _touched_ hers. Briar really shouldn't have been scarily electrified by the fact that, oh my God, his fucking hand touched hers. She felt like a bubbling teenager again, like her crush had sat next to her in class and was actually fucking talking to her! But then it dawned on her, with intense distress, that fuck, her hand was absolutely pooling with sweat and he'd just touched it and jerked away, as though she'd literally told him, 'touch me and you'll get anus-rupturing diarrhoea for a year straight'.

Briar threw the money into the register, moving as fast as she could to give him the change so Wilbur could finally fucking leave. 

" _Change_ ," Briar announced.

Wilbur twitched up at that, so overtly offended. "W-what? Why on earth would I need to change myse-"

Briar threw on her most confused and repulsed face, rattling her closed palm about so he could hear the pennies being tossed. "Your change, Wilbur."  
  


"Oh. My... change..." He recited out carefully, flushing with embarrassment as he held out his palm to receive the thirty-one pence change. He plopped it into his pocket and took hold of the blue bag, eye kept firmly on Briar. 

It was another long moment of staring that took place, Briar snatching the opportunity to ogle at Wilbur once again. Ding dong, what a dashing man - too bad she just simply did not like him in that way. At all. Only did Briar realise that maybe she was being a bit too creepy with her ogling when Wilbur cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. 

"I'll be going then."  
  


Briar shook her head to snap herself out of staring at Wilbur's stupid neck moles and gave her best nonchalant glance up at him. Thank God. "Oh, alright."

Wilbur did seem to move, though it appeared for a small second he was stuck in place and then turned his head to look at Briar again and fucking speak. Why wasn't he fucking off yet? Something terrible churned within her gut. 

"Briar," Wilbur began, sounding suddenly so unsure of himself, voice wavering. She gave a hum of acknowledgement. "Why... why- when- no... back then, you know those months ago, why did you, well, why did you just...?" He trailed off, something glinting in his eyes that pleaded with Briar as they locked glances. It didn't need to be said what he was talking about, for Briar knew exactly what he meant.

She swallowed. Then took a shaky sigh and sunk back into the office chair behind her. "I think you should go back to Tommy, Wilbur."

Dissatisfied yet not surprised, he nodded and soldiered his head upwards. "Right. Yeah. Tommy." And like so did Wilbur make his way towards the door, much to Briar's undeniable bucket-load of delicious relief.

"Oh, Wilbur! Wait!" Briar suddenly find herself exclaiming, perching her head out of the kiosk just in time to see him half-way out the doorway. He swivelled his head around so fast Briar thought it might roll away, and Wilbur's face spoke of nothing but a surge of hope and a radiant brightness in him when she called his name. 

Expectant and as though bursting at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Briar would say something that meant _something,_ Wilbur spoke, "Yes?"

"Do you mind getting back all of the ruddy sweets Tommy fucking stole? His pockets are absolutely fucking brimming with them and I really don't want to get into trouble so..." 

A crippling sense of disappointment seemed to swallow him whole and Wilbur stammered, before giving a sour nod in her direction. "Right, yeah, 'course. Anything for- right. Bye." Briar didn't even have time to thank him for the favour before he disappeared out the door and out of sight. 


End file.
